


One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

by Anonymous



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, De-Aged Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Angst, Dick Grayson Whump, Family Bonding, Gen, Parent Bruce Wayne, good dad Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dick was twenty-eight.The boy in the mirror most certainly was not.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Everyone
Comments: 91
Kudos: 673
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

When Dick woke up, he was surprised to find himself tucked under familiar, warm bedsheets in his childhood bedroom. Eyes stinging, he blinked away the wetness and tears pooling at the corners, and lifted a hand, balled into a fist to scrub away the sleep.

Immediately, he knew, his stomach a fast sinking stone in a lake of unease, that something was terribly wrong. Dick didn't know _how_ he knew, only that he did.

Before he moved, he took stock. Cataloguing every injury, as he always did. However, it was surprising to find himself feeling relatively unhurt and limber. An odd change of pace, given how frequently he sported bruises and other abrasions.

Dick studied the ceiling for a moment more, then rolled onto his side, hand reaching for the edges of the bed-covers. Something felt off, he noted, dropping his bare feet to the rug below, before turning to pull the quilt back over the space he had just vacated. It took him a moment to figure out why.

The face of Superman smiled back up at him from his bed-covers. Red, blue, gold and heroism plastered all over the quilt. The sight of it made him jerk back, retracting his hand as though the image burned.

This… this wasn't right. Dick didn't sleep in his childhood bedroom anymore. Hell, he barely even spent any time at the manor anymore, now that Bruce was home and had resumed the mantle of Batman. Superman's face continued to grin up at him, bravery and courage personified. Completely antithetical to the awful dread crawling across his skin like millions of tiny insects.

Dick's bed hadn't sported this bedspread since he was ten.

Wild panic flared in his chest, his heart kicking at his ribcage like a spooked horse. Hands shaking, he brought them up almost to his sternum, balled fists recoiling to prevent his heart from leaping out all together.

It was then that he noticed the pyjamas.

Ironed and pressed so immaculately that none but Alfred could have done it, he found himself in blue silk pyjamas he'd long since outgrown. The silver pinstripes glinted ever-so-slightly in the moonlight, just peeking around the curtains, but his brain felt stuck as though in mud.

To anyone watching, the speed of change would have seemed almost as swift as a strike of lightning.

Dick scrambled for the mirror, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste, the reflection enough to leave him pale as a ghost as all the blood drained immediately from his face.

Dick was twenty-eight.

The boy in the mirror most certainly was not.

It took every ounce of willpower he had not to have a panic attack right then and there.

How could this be? Was this time-travel of some description? A physical de-aging of some kind? Dick looked young enough that it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that this de-aging could have turned him all the way back to _before_ Robin.

The clock in the hallway chimed midnight. Early enough that Batman might not yet have returned from patrol. That didn't mean Dick couldn't wait in the cave though. Bruce would know what was happening. Bruce would help. (The irony of his childlike thoughts didn't go unnoticed by Dick, but he tried to shove them away, focusing instead on his first priority: finding Bruce.)

Mind made up, he crossed his old bedroom and poked his head out into the hall, no signs of life to be seen.

The hallway felt so much larger, he realised, stepping out onto the runner that disguised the squeaky spots in the wood. Dick had forgotten how imposing everything in the manor had felt to him at this age, especially coming from a small circus trailer. The portraits on the wall flared to life, Bruce's ancestors looming over him with smiles that seemed almost rictus-esque in the darkness, the sight of them sending shudders down his spine.

Despite knowing the way to the Batcave intimately, it felt like an entirely different route with his much shorter legs, and an eternity before he actually made it down to the grandfather clock with the broken hands. After straightening the two hands, he heard the faint, but tell-tale click of the secret door and pulled the secret passage open, feet hitting cold steps almost immediately.

From down below, several voices echoed up.

“―I'm just saying, Kuznetsov would not have the drugs if _somebody_ had listened to me―.” Jason's deep-toned snark reverberated off the metal and stone.

“Well, if _somebody_ hadn't gone in there _half-cocked,”_ Tim retorted, Dick making it far enough down the steps in time to see him throwing his hands in the air, gesticulating angrily. “We would have _caught_ the crook!”

“None of that would have done us any good anyway,” Damian dismissed with a wave of his hand and an arrogant timbre. “The plan was flawed from the very start and you all should have listened to me―.”

“ _Boys,”_ Bruce's voice thundered over all of them, effectively shutting them up. “Enough.” The man pushed back the cowl and sagged into the computer chair, every line in his body riddled with exhaustion. “We didn't catch him tonight, but we'll get 'em soon. For now, hit the showers and head up to bed. We'll start afresh tomorrow.”

The boys in question grumbled only a little, all turning and heading towards the showers as per Bruce's command, up until Damian spotted Dick hesitating on the steps.

“ _Grayson?_ ” he exclaimed, loud enough to catch the attention of the other two and then a moment later, Bruce, who looked up at him with dark rings around his eyes. “What are you doing down here?”

Dick blinked, taking the three of them in.

Damian did not appear to have de-aged along with him, nor did he appear any older than when Dick had last seen him. The same went for Jason and Tim, and when he looked over, Bruce appeared befuddled, but exactly as he recalled.

Dick sucked in a lungful of air, ready to ask for answers, when he was interrupted by the sound of the Batcomputer chair squeaking in protest as Bruce stood and strode over.

“ _B,”_ came out on a single whoosh of air.

“Dick?” he replied, looking just as confused as Dick felt. “Why are you awake? It must be past midnight by now.”

The words were like nails on a chalkboard, his brain coming to a screeching halt.

What?

What?

_What?_

He blinked. Then every coherent thought fizzled out, his mind suddenly blank, panic overtaking all else. _“Look at me, B,”_ he breathed, finally, when he could string more than one word together at a time.

Bruce knelt down so as to be closer to his height. “I can see you?” the older man answered, mystification still evident.

Dick sucked in another breath. “I am a _child.”_

This time, Bruce smiled.

“You sure are,” he said, a hint of a reprimand in his tone as he continued, “one that should most definitely be in bed by now.”

Out of nowhere, Bruce picked him up. Hoisting him up onto his hip, like Dick really _was_ ten and not twenty-eight.

Dick spluttered and squirmed and let out a loud squawk of indignation, all the while his brain whirring with panic and alarm.

“Bruce!” he exclaimed, pushing at the other man's chest. “What the hell are you doing!? Put me down!”

_I am twenty-eight,_ he wanted to say. _I am not a child!_

Yet, no matter how hard he wished to actually say the words, every time he tried, his lips seized up and his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, preventing him from speaking.

Why he thought Bruce would listen to him now when he never had before, Dick didn't know. Bruce simply carried him over to the Batcomputer chair and popped him down with the stern warning: “You'd best stay there until I get back.” And then departed for the showers, the same as the others.

In the absence of anyone else with him, Dick's mind spun, despair the overwhelming emotion he rode on.

_What the hell was happening?_

Jason, Tim and Damian returned first, dressed in comfortable sleeping clothes and looking tired from a hard nights work.

“Hey, Dickie,” Jason said, swinging by the computer chair, Tim and Damian in tow. “It's a little late for you, isn't it? Didn't B put you to bed before we went out on patrol?”

Though probably gaping like a fish, Dick made to answer, but was interrupted by Tim.

“Bad night?”

Oh, Tim did not know the _half_ of it.

“Maybe the ghosts of the manor woke him,” Damian added lightly, a joking smirk on his lips.

_Why were they pretending as though everything was normal? As though everything was fine? Could they not_ see?!

Suddenly, Dick just couldn't take it anymore. A surge of strong emotion rose within him, welling up, pooling until the dam broke. Tears began to slide down his cheeks, unbidden, and Dick had to bite his tongue to keep in the hiccups. An aborted sob broke free of his lips despite it all.

_This wasn't right! He wasn't a child!_ What the hell was happening?

“Oh yeah, good going Damian,” Tim said, rolling his eyes. Damian shot Tim a scathing glare, but its effectiveness was inhibited by the panicked look that made up most of his expression.

Bruce approached, hair still damp from the shower.

“What's wrong?” Bruce asked kindly, pulling Dick into his arms. Strangely enough, Dick felt inclined to let him. _And what did that mean, exactly? That he was willing to let Bruce hold him like he was eight years old again, despite actually being two decades more._ “What happened?”

Jason made a face. “Damian was being mean to him, what else?”

Damian pursed his lips. “It's not my fault he's a crybaby,” he retorted defensively.

Bruce just sighed, as if this were a common thing. “Damian,” he began. “Please apologise to your brother.”

Damian's cheeks turned a rather warm shade of red as he turned back to Dick, sheepish and a little shame-faced.

“Ugh,” he groaned, a cover-up for his embarrassment that Dick could see right through. “Fine. I'm sorry, Grayson.”

Bruce patted Damian's head lightly. Then: “Thank you. Now, off to bed you lot.”

The older three boys departed first and Bruce, still carrying Dick in his arms, trailed them, switching out lights in the cave as they went. As they marched up the stairs, Bruce swiped at the tears still falling off Dick's cheeks and tossed him a smile every once in a while.

“Are you alright, Dick?” he asked, serious and low. “Nightmare?”

If there was anything he was sure of, it was that this most certainly _was_ a nightmare.

Dick nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly, though a shuddered breath. “Sure feels like it.”

Bruce's brow pinched together, lips twisting with concern as he puzzled his way through the odd phrasing.

“Why don't you sleep in my bed with me tonight,” he said finally, closing the grandfather clock passage behind them. “There's plenty of room and you won't be alone.”

It wasn't like Dick hadn't spent the evening in Bruce's bed before, back when he _had_ been a child. This, though, _this_ was strange.

Dick fidgeted in Bruce's grip, holding his silence long enough for Bruce to grow quietly concerned, evident by the small furrow in his brow that Dick had long ago learnt meant more than Bruce actually let on.

“Are you feeling alright, Dickie?” he asked upon reaching the top landing, sliding a hand beneath Dick's bangs and feeling his forehead for a temperature. “You're not looking well…”

Dick just nodded, but the action felt as hollow, numbness surging through his body as his mind tried to puzzle through all that was happening. A heavy weight pressed on his mind, enough that Dick just wanted to give into the exhaustion. Maybe if he went back to sleep, he would wake to find this had all just been a horrible nightmare.

Sadly, he didn't have much hope.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone thinks Dick is sick. There's nothing he can say to convince them otherwise.

The next morning, Dick found himself sprawled across Bruce's enormous bed. On the one side he had a foot dangerously close to the sleeping man's chin, an arm hanging off the side, and appeared to have drooled on his pillow.

A noise had woken him, but it took his brain a moment to figure out what it was and where it was coming from. The noise of the curtains being drawn back, light subsequently flooding the room, was a good indication, though.

Dick sat up, legs in lotus position, hair probably mussed with sleep and feeling somehow _more_ exhausted than the night before. A quick downward glance confirmed the horrible twisting feeling in his gut. Nothing had changed from the night before. Dick was a child, still. Clad in those same pin-stripped pyjamas he had gone to bed in.

Beside him, Bruce groaned and rolled over, a futile attempt at escaping the late morning sunshine filling the room.

Dick's eyes moved away from Bruce's sleeping form over to the curtains, where Alfred was tying them back.

“Good morning, Master Richard,” he said quietly, turning upon finishing, the smallest of smiles twitching beneath his moustache. “I must say, I was not quite expecting to find you _here_ this morning.” There was a question in his statement, but Dick's tired brain couldn't quite figure out the appropriate answer.

The old butler appeared as unchanged as the rest of the family. Just as prim and proper as Dick recalled.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling his age only in his mind.

“Good morning, Alfred,” he replied morosely. Later, he would start looking for answers. Both _how_ this had happened, and _why._ And most importantly, _how he could be changed back._ For now, though, the prevailing emotion was despair. Half of him simply wanted to curl up again and go back to sleep.

Alfred moved with swift grace, easily seating himself on the edge of Bruce's bed beside Dick and removing a glove to feel Dick's forehead in much the same way Bruce had last night. It only incited a small start out of him.

“Are you well?” Alfred asked, concerned, moving his hand away and pulling his glove back on. “You're not looking your bright, usual self this morning, Master Dick. Are you feeling sick anywhere?”

As Dick could not tell Alfred the truth―that he was in fact a twenty-eight year old man and not whatever aged child he now appeared―he simply bit his tongue and shook his head, mustering up as much of a smile as he could. It must not have appeared very convincing, for Alfred did not look assured.

Briefly, he tried opening his mouth, desperately wanting to divulge the truth, but once again it was as though his tongue were stuck to the roof of his mouth and his lips plainly refused to budge. _A spell of some kind?_ He wondered. _A magical malady?_

“I am fine,” he said, eventually, patting Alfred's knee. “I promise.”

The older man's eyebrows rose at the action, but other than this, no other show of surprise could be seen.

“Why don't you come downstairs,” Alfred said, glancing over at Bruce for the first time. “I will fix you some breakfast while we wait for your father to awaken, yes?”

Dick nodded, feeling odd when he moved off the bed as his feet did not immediately touch the floor. It was so strange, being so short again. _Well, shorter than usual…_

Alfred took up his hand and Dick nearly pulled back with surprise. It took a moment for his brain to catch up. _Alfred was really worried about him…_

He remembered being a child, when Alfred only touched or drew Bruce close when he was worried. Dick had been so free with his own affections back then, he'd hardly noticed how closely guarded Alfred kept himself. There were more than a few members of the Justice League who had mourned his growing-up also. As the very first 'partner' welcomed into the League's space, Dick had done all he could to worm himself into their hearts―albeit unknowingly. There'd been a few off-hand comments to Bruce during his rebellious teenage years, a remark of sorrow regarding how happy and adoring he had once been.

Dick, led by Alfred, made his way to the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, Tim and Jason were already there, both cradling cups of coffee and making grunting noises at each other, an oddly Bruce-like way of communicating, Dick thought.

Jason was the first to spy him.

His brother's face softened.

“Good morning, Dickiebird,” he said with a smile, scooting off his barstool. Dick didn't know if it was a good idea for Jason to abandon his coffee like that, given the way Tim was eyeing it. “How are you this morning?”

Without warning, Jason scooped him up and popped Dick on his hip before sitting back down on the barstool. An appropriate place for coffee defence. Dick squawked a little at being hoisted up onto his younger― _older?_ _―_ brother's lap.

Dick wasn't given the chance to answer.

Alfred, who was already moving into the kitchen to prepare breakfast, spoke for him.

“Not well, I'm afraid,” he said, catching Jason's attention, a small frown appearing on his brow too. “Master Richard claims he is alright, but he is very pale and rather quiet. I found him in Master Bruce's room this morning.”

Jason nodded, beginning to run circles on Dick's back with his palm. “That's no good, Dick,” he said, almost cooing.

Quite frankly, it was _embarrassing_ to have his younger brother cooing at him like he was a child.

“I told you, Alfred,” he said, in as serious and commanding a voice as he could muster. “I am perfectly _fine.”_

“Forgive me for not believing you, Master Dick,” Alfred simply replied, dryly.

Damian was the next to appear in the kitchen.

He met Dick's eyes first.

“Grayson,” he said with a nod, sliding up onto the third available barstool. There was a split second of hesitation before Damian's hand darted out unexpectedly and ruffled Dick's hair. It was gone again in a moment, leaving him blinking away the surprise.

Jason, however, curled his arm around Dick protectively. “Be nice to him, Dames,” he said, and if Dick wasn't mistaken, there was a touch of cool venom in his tone too. “He's not feeling well.”

_This is a weird dynamic,_ Dick mused, half-hysterical. _Jason acting like this, Damian showing physical affection…_

Alfred dropped a mug of hot tea in front of Damian, who sniffed indifferently and pulled the mug closer. “I didn't _do_ anything.”

A growl started to bubble its way up out of Jason's throat when Dick interrupted him, intervening in what would surely become a fight if he didn't.

“Firstly, I am perfectly _well,”_ he said, forcefully. “Totally feeling the _aster_. Secondly, Jason. You do not need to fight my battles for me. Dami was just being polite.”

The entire kitchen fell into an uncomfortable lull of silence.

Dick's heart-rate picked up immediately.

It was a long time before anyone said anything.

Tim was the first the break the silence, an awkward chuckle escaping from around his coffee.

“ _'Feeling the aster?'”_ he quoted, looking bemused.

Jason was the second. Dick started to feel rather uncomfortable with the tightness of his grip.

“That… Dick. That was a lot of big words, buddy. Where did you learn all those?”

Dick wanted to howl with frustration. Apparently, it showed on his face, for in the next moment, Alfred had dropped a fruit platter in front of him, an attempt at distraction.

“Breakfast,” he declared, no nonsense. “Eat.”

Dick looked down. The sliced fruits had been arranged in a happy face. His stomach bottomed out.

Unconsciously, he gripped Jason's clothing a little tighter, where he had balled a hand in the fabric of his sweatshirt.

_God, he wanted to be sick._

“I'm… not hungry,” was all he could get out, forcing himself to swallow back the bile in his throat.

Jason's hand resumed its circles on his back.

“You're sure you can't just try one piece?” Damian asked, sparing Dick an unreadable stare. It was a second before his words clicked into place.

_Damian was worried about him._ They all were, he realised, glancing around.

“I… I don't have a fork…” he returned; a lame excuse, for sure. _Who ate fruit with a fork anyway?_

Alfred looked surprised, but reached into the silverware draw and pulled out a shiny silver fork, passing it over to Dick.

When Dick didn't make a move to choose a fruit, Jason plucked the fork out of his hand with a sigh and stabbed a juicy slice of watermelon, holding it up to Dick's lips. He shot Jason a panicked look, but his brother used the distraction to shove the fruit into his mouth. Before he knew it, it was gone, and Jason had an orange slice on the fork next.

_This was so strange. Dick could feed himself, he didn't need Jason doing it for him!_

The orange went in. Then a slice of pear. Then a blueberry.

By the end of it, he felt humiliated, but the rest of his family looked reassured. It was the only thing preventing Dick from dying of embarrassment right then and there.

Bruce appeared in the kitchen barely two seconds after Alfred had served up a full cooked breakfast, sausages and eggs aplenty. Jason broke off bits of his hash-brown to feed to Dick, who tried to avoid the oily food but was mostly unsuccessful, given he was also fending off his brother's hurt expression each time he tried.

“Good morning,” Bruce grunted, stabbing a slice of bacon and inhaling it.

Each one of them chorused back their own version, with Dick sadly mumbling around a raspberry Jason had popped in his mouth.

“Father,” Damian started, a second later. “Are you aware that Richard is ill?”

Dick rolled his eyes. Apparently it didn't matter what he said, they were determined to believe him sick.

Bruce froze around a mouthful of sausage, then swallowed and looked up, setting his silverware down.

“Still not feeling good today, Dick…?” he asked sympathetically. “I'm sorry chum.”

Dick pushed away the fork in Jason's hand and shoved back the plate of fruit. “For the millionth time,” he exclaimed. “I'm not sick!”

Not a single one of them looked convinced, and Tim even commented, sarcastically: “Ah, so that's why you're not feeling hungry. Gotcha.”

At that, he deflated. Jason dropped the fork and turned Dick around in his arms. It took him much longer than it should have to realise Jason was _cradling_ him.

Dick would have squirmed away. Really, he would have. It was embarrassing to be treated like this.

_But…_

Jason's hugs were so rare. Dick rarely got to hug his brothers, certainly none of them _instigated_ hugs. It was always Dick initiating hugs.

So, instead of pushing Jason away and forcing them apart, Dick let himself have this. In his brother's warm, secure arms, Dick melted into the hug. Hands bunched up the back of Jason's sweatshirt and his face ended up pressed against collarbone.

There was a murmur around them, but Dick could only hear Jason's reassurances in his ear. How he was sorry Dick wasn't feeling well as he stroked the back of Dick's head.

Exhaustion pulled at his brain again, that same, almost unnatural tiredness, willing him to close his eyes and just fall asleep again. Cuddled up close to the furnace that was Jason, it didn't seem all that hard to do.

Jason continued to rub his back, the motion and soothing words slowly luring him into allowing his eyes to flutter shut.

Behind him, Dick could hear Alfred removing his dishes, Tim's hushed chatter with Jason over the top of his head, Bruce and Damian's growing concerns, now voiced. Dick let it all wash over him, a gentle wave pulling him underwater. The depths of the ocean were deep, the further he sank, the quieter it became.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely people who told me their nice thoughts on this fic. Thank you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugs make the best medicine.

Dick found his eyes greeting the sitting room when he finally awoke, his head in someone's lap. There was a noise on in the background, the television, he realised. Someone's hand ran through his hair absently, which might have felt nice under other circumstances.

Slowly, Dick sat up, and the hand fell away. Some animated show was playing on the TV.

“Dick…?”

Turning, he met Tim's eyes. Ah, so it was _his_ lap Dick had been resting on. He let out a wide yawn.

“Hi Timmy,” he greeted with a small smile, blinking away the tears that always gathered beside his eyes after a yawn.

Tim returned the smile, but it was not without an edge of worry.

“Good morning, sleepy head. You slept for a long time,” he noted out loud. “A couple of hours, at least.”

Dick scooted towards the edge of the couch, feeling grim about the fact that he had to _scoot_ at all.

“Oh?” he asked, shuffling forward until his feet stretched down to touch carpet. “What's the time?”

Tim shrugged, then added: “I'm not sure, but it must be mid-morning by now.”

Dick took a moment to stretch out all his muscles. “Where's Bruce?” he asked, upon releasing his arms, feeling them swing down by his side.

Tim made a motion with his head. “The study,” he said.

Dick nodded. And then, because he couldn't quite help himself, he leaned over and ruffled Tim's hair, stretching up on his tip-toes in order to reach. Tim looked startled and astonished when Dick pulled away, reaching up to flatten his mussed up hair. More so than he ever had when Dick had done that to him as an adult.

“What was that for?” Tim asked, mystified.

Dick just grinned at him. “No reason,” he said, smiling broadly. “Just felt like it.”

Tim didn't say anything else, but he continued to look perplexed as Dick left the room.

The first order of business on his agenda, however, was not in fact finding Bruce. Instead, Dick made his way upstairs and briefly considered using one of the guest en-suites before deciding it would be too much effort to lug all his shower supplies, despite feeling odd about using the bathroom adjoined to his childhood room.

Upon reaching his bedroom, he dug through his draws and laid out upon his bed the most inoffensive clothing he could find. Next, he stripped out of his blue and silver pin-stripped pyjamas and ducked into the bathroom, the cold tiles and draughty air of the bathroom dropping the temperature in the room significantly.

It was a blessing to finally step under the warm water, allowing the heat to sluice over his skin and warm him. Quickly, Dick scrubbed himself clean, washing his hair with shampoo and followed by matching conditioner, the odd orange scent he'd favoured as a child wafting up his nose.

Once he was finished, he shut off the shower and pulled a fluffy blue towel off the rail, quickly scrubbing it through his hair to dry the wetter parts before wrapping it around himself and drying off.

After Dick was sufficiently dry, he waddled back into his bedroom and pulled his previously laid out clothes on, following which he returned to the bathroom to hang his towel up.

The next thing on his to-do list was to find Bruce and possibly enlist his help in finding a way to return Dick―and the whole family, for that matter―back to normal. Dick did not like being this young, he was tired all the time and they all gave him eyes that one might give a fluffy duckling. At best, it was embarrassing, at worst it felt like a nightmare come true. Dick bounced between one to the other almost violently, but it was the fatigue and the _insanity_ of it that kept him from voicing the terror. That, and whatever spell or trick was keeping him from simply speaking the truth of it aloud.

However, before he was able to leave the room, or even formulate some kind of action plan, the door to his bedroom squeaked open, startling him, making him jump and spin around.

Bruce stood in the entranceway, two mollifying hands raised. “It's just me,” he said, looking just a touch hurt by his surprise. “Tim said you were awake.”

Dick puffed out the breath, hitched in his lungs, sagging against his bed as he took in the sight of the man.

“I didn't mean to frighten you,” Bruce continued, striding over and seating himself on the edge of Dick's Superman bedspread, freshly made courtesy of Alfred. “I just came to check in, see how you were doing.”

A hand slipped up underneath his bangs before Dick could bat it away, which he did eventually, a scowl crossing his features.

“I would be better if people stopped assuming I was sick,” Dick retorted, curtly.

Bruce sighed, his shoulders not losing any tension as they dropped. “We're just worried about you, chum,” he defended, weakly. “You've been awfully quiet today…”

Dick rounded on him more forcefully. “And that's another thing,” he snapped, letting his frustration get the best of him. “'Chum'?” _It had been several years now since Dick had heard that moniker…_

This time, Bruce really did look hurt, and Dick immediately slammed his mouth closed. Already he regretted the words that put such a wounded expression on his adoptive father's face.

“You…” Bruce began softly, then paused to clear his throat. “You don't want me to call you _'chum'_ anymore?” The bed creaked under his weight as he shifted.

Dick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. _God, it was getting harder to think of Bruce as the man who had taken him in and then cast him off when he'd proved inconvenient. Maybe their relationship as adults was getting better, but it would never be as it once was. It would never be as it had been when Dick was a… child._

“No,” he decided finally, his voice coming out much smaller than he'd intended. “That's… you can call me that… if you like.”

When Dick glanced up, the lines on the man's face had softened and his eyes looked dangerously wet.

Bruce reached for him and pulled him up onto his lap. This time, there was even minimal squawking from Dick, who was half expecting it given how little he'd been allowed to stand or sit under his own power in the past forty-eight hours.

“Thank you,” Bruce nodded graciously, like it was some great gift Dick had given him, pulling him in just that little big tighter. “Everyone is just a little concerned about you, that's all. You're not ordinarily so… subdued. Not to mention how…” Bruce paused, as if searching for the right way of putting it, the correct choice of words. “… how _warm_ and receptive to hugs and cuddles you have been since last night. I think you gave Jason the shock of a lifetime when you fell asleep in his arms this morning. I don't think he's going to stop grinning for the next week.”

Dick was… confused.

“What do you mean?” he asked, readjusting himself on Bruce's lap. From this distance, he could see how many grey hairs the man was sporting. An odd cognitive dissonance between the Bruce before him and the man in Dick's memories. “I love hugs.”

Bruce concealed his surprise well, but Dick had been reading the man's micro-expressions longer than almost anyone, he could tell the words caught him off guard. For a split second, he almost looked _suspicious,_ but the look was wiped away as quickly as it had appeared.

“I'll… keep that in mind…” was all Bruce said, looking down at Dick like he'd grown a third head.

As if to prove his point, Dick leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Bruce's torso. “I'm good at hugs,” he said. “See?”

The effort of holding in the laugh was clearly too much for Bruce, who barked one out anyway as he shifted his grip and squeezed Dick tightly, just for a moment.

“You sure are, sport,” he replied, still chuckling. Before Dick could pull back again, the next thing he knew, Bruce was lifting him high, popping Dick on his hip and supporting him with one arm.

There was no use in fighting the grip, but Dick voiced his dislike of being carried anyway.

“You know I can walk,” he pouted. “I have legs!”

Bruce simply smirked and began to take his exit out of Dick's room, turning into the hallway.

“I know,” he replied. “But since you love hugs now and all, I want to make the most of it before you change your mind.”

Dick's eyes rolled from shining sea to shining sea of their of volition. “Being cuddled and being smothered are not the same thing, B.”

Then, Bruce did something so unexpected, Dick jerked his whole body back so forcefully that the man had to use a second arm to prevent from dropping him. He pecked a swift kiss to Dick's temple.

“Woah,” Bruce said, clutching at Dick so he didn't fall as Dick let out an enormous yelp. “Easy there, don't want you falling.”

Damian's door flew open, eyes wide. It frightened both Dick and Bruce.

“ _What was that noise?”_ the boy demanded, fingernails clutching the doorframe, eyes zeroing in on Dick in Bruce's arms.

A beat of silence passed before either of them were able to recover themselves.

“Oh,” Dick whispered finally, covering his mouth. “Sorry, that was me.”

Damian's eyes jerked over to Bruce, narrowing down even further. _“What did you do to Grayson?”_ he asked, accusatory, the words more like a threat than a question.

Bruce looked surprised by the daggers in Damian's voice, but even more so when the boy marched over and demanded he put Dick down.

“It's okay, Dami,” Dick said, patting his head from where he could reach. At this height, he could almost imagine he was himself, leaning over to ruffle Damian's hair, as he had Tim's earlier. “Bruce just surprised me, that's all.”

Damian didn't seem to hear nor care. His attention was fully focused on Bruce, hands on hips and chest puffed up to make himself seem larger. It was a tactic Dick had seen the boy use frequently when trying to argue his way, but it was no less adorable each time.

“ _Grayson is a child, Father,”_ he said, waspishly, looking condemnatory up at the man. _“You need to be careful with him, all the parenting books say that_ _―_ _”_

“Damian,” Bruce interrupted, looking fond but exasperated. “I know Dick is a child. I have raised three children before him, I think I know what I am doing at this point.”

The young boy looked shocked and stumped at that, mouth still hanging open.

Before Damian could get started again, Bruce continued: “I know you're just trying to look out for your baby brother, I do. And I appreciate that, Damian. It makes me happy to know you're worried about Dick. But he isn't incapable.”

This, apparently, was the incorrect thing to say.

Damian's cheeks heated up, an angry frown tugging at his brow. It was a look Dick knew well, one he tried to avoid creating at all costs. Dick would have face-palmed, had he not been too busy wanting to slap Bruce across the face for making such a rookie mistake.

_Parenting indeed._

“ _I know he isn't incapable, but he is just a child, Father! He could easily get hurt! You need to be more gentle with him!”_

With a sigh, Bruce finally set Dick on his feet―who then proceeded to wobble a bit as he was set down and cling momentarily to the man's leg, an action not missed by anyone.

“Damian,” Bruce said, almost sighing his name. “I know. You're a child too.”

Damian sniffed, folding his arms across his chest.

“I'm different,” he said. “Mother made sure of it.”

A wash of sorrow came over Bruce's features, like splashes of watercolour in his expression. It was enough to make Dick's heart hurt for the two of them. They still had trouble communicating… maybe it didn't matter what Dick did, maybe they always would.

It was like a force came over his legs, spurring him forward and seizing Damian's hand.

Damian appeared a little alarmed at the contact, but he didn't pull away as Dick shoved him against Bruce's waist.

“Hug,” he said, Bruce's arms coming up around Damian reflexively. “Hugs make everything better, trust me.”

For a moment, Damian simply looked confused, but after a minute, the boy began to sink into the embrace.

Over Dami's head, Bruce winked at him, an enormous smile splitting his face as he mouthed the word: “Thanks.”

Dick couldn't help but feel a little proud of himself. If he had been an adult, that stunt never would have worked. Damian was too focused on trying to impress all his elders around him that he never would have listened to Dick like that.

Maybe being a child wasn't all doom and gloom.

_Still… he'd really rather be his normal self soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really blown out of the water by the response to the last chapter. I loved reading all the theories!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't be suspicious, don't be suspicious.

The lunch bell rang while Dick was in the library. He was researching, scanning through any of the books Zatanna had left in Bruce's care, all of them in the secret bookshelf behind the shelf of encyclopaedias. Bruce didn't know he knew they were there, but Dick did.

Still not hungry, and certainly not after Jason had practically force fed him at breakfast, Dick was planning on ignoring the lunch bell and skipping lunch, but other people had other plans.

Jason was the first to show up, striding into the library like he knew exactly where Dick would be―perched beneath the bench window surrounded by enough pillows to make a fortress. With his hands on hips and an uneasy scowl marring his features, Dick tried not to feel intimidated as his enormous brother drew closer, his height making it that much easier for Jason to loom over him.

“Dick,” he said, the word spoken sharply, like the crack of a gun. “What are you doing?”

Slamming the book on teleportation magic closed, he shoved it under the cushions hastily, but it was too late. Jason had already seen.

It was all too easy for Jason to manhandle him out of the way, despite Dick's desperate attempts to prevent him in getting to the book. It was easily plucked out of the pillow pile, Jason turning it over to read the cover as he straightened.

An unimpressed look wormed its way into his eyebrows. “You shouldn't have this,” he said, critically. “You shouldn't even be able to _read_ this.”

Dick curled in on himself, feeling strangely chastised. Jason simply glared down at him, maybe waiting for an explanation, he didn't know.

“I―” he began, sounding small and pathetic, even to his own ears. The words stopped there, though. They got caught in his throat and refused to budge. _This was weird, he shouldn't feel chided by his younger brother, he should be allowed to read what he wanted._

Jason held the disapproving stare for only a minute more before he sighed, plonking himself down on the cushions next to Dick and drawing in close.

“Ah,” he groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “You know I can't stay mad at you, Big Bird.”

_Big Bird?_

Dick parroted the moniker aloud, his mind whirring.

Jason simply carried on as though nothing unusual had been said.

“You know, though, if Bruce catches you with the magic books he's going to throw a fit, right?” Jason sounded like he was speaking from experience. “They're dangerous, Dickie. I know you know that. If you accidentally read a spell out loud, who knows what could happen to you!”

Dick nodded, but felt slightly irritated that Jason didn't trust him enough _not_ to do that.

“I wouldn't,” he returned. “I know better than _that,_ Jay.”

Jason's eyebrows shot up, repeating the moniker back to Dick, this time.

At the expression, Dick's own brow furrowed, wondering what it was he had said. _He always called Jason: 'Jay'._

It was a second before Jason managed to shake off whatever alarmed dubiety had overcome him.

“Come on,” he said, pushing himself up with a hand on his knee before striding over to the hidden bookshelf and returning the forbidden book. “It's time for lunch.”

“I'm not hungry,” Dick returned, unmoved. He felt like a child in that moment, folding his arms across his chest stubbornly, all the while trying his hardest not to give in to the urge to pout.

Jason pulled a face. Then, rather than argue with him, simply hoisted Dick into his arms, holding him under one arm like a bag.

“You have to eat,” Jason proclaimed, unyielding, unaffected by the indignant spluttering coming from the child in his grip. “You have to keep your strength up if you're not feeling well. Allow your body to fight the infection and all.”

“I told you,” he said, annoyed now. Mostly because no one was listening to him. “I'm not hungry.”

Jason hummed non-committally, striding out of the library. “We'll see,” he returned. “Maybe Alfred's cooking will change your mind.”

The pair were the last to arrive at the dinning room, Alfred's marvellous cooking already steaming hot and ready for consumption.

Jason dropped Dick gently in his seat before marching around to sit in his own. Wordlessly, before he could so much as protest, Tim leaned over and began shovelling greens onto Dick's plate.

Damian was the first to strike up any kind of conversation, but Dick didn't deign to listen. Instead, he pushed around the stringy green beans Tim had dumped on his plate and didn't bother to reach for any of the meats or potatoes he would have ordinarily gone straight for. In his current situation, Dick just couldn't find it in himself to have an appetite.

It didn't go unnoticed.

Bruce shot him unreadable glances, increasing in frequency the longer lunch carried on. Tim tried to move a few cheese covered cauliflower pieces onto his plate, as if that would tempt him into eating, and Jason gripped his fork and glared until Dick placed one measly bean into his mouth and bit down on it. It tasted like sawdust, but he forced himself to chew and swallow it anyway.

Lunch went on for ages. It felt like an eternity before Dick was allowed to excuse himself. Fortunately, Bruce let him go easily.

Dick ran back to the library and slipped inside. Quickly, without wasting any time, he found the book on magical teleportation that Jason had confiscated and pulled it out of the shelf once more. Clutching it tightly to his chest, he hurried out of the library before anyone could catch him, running along the hall in soft socks that made his steps stealthy. It wouldn't do him any good to have Jason catch him reading it for a second time, he would need to hide it some place in his room.

However, before Dick could turn up the stairs, one hand already on the balustrade, one clutching the book like a rare and precious jewel, he stopped at the sound of his own name. There were voices coming from the dinning room.

“―just doesn't seem like himself today,” Jason was saying, sounding sorrowful and a little concerned. “I am worried about him.”

Bruce sighed. Heavy, like there was weight on his chest. The exhalation made him sound his age, for once. “I know, me too, but there's nothing we can do. I don't want to push him. Dick says he's fine, so for now I suppose we _have_ to believe him.”

A fist flew down hard onto the table. “Father, he clearly isn't _fine,_ have you noticed how withdrawn he's been? There is obviously something wrong with him and I'm going to find out what it is!”

“Damian,” Tim began, his tone exasperated. “Please do not interrogate Dick, he doesn't need that from you.”

“ _What is that supposed to mean?”_ Damian bit back angrily, waspish and short.

“Boys, please,” Bruce interjected, a hint of warning in his tone. “Enough. I know you are all worried about your brother, but I definitely do not want anyone harassing him. There could be a very simple explanation, which he doesn't want to share with us just yet, so―”

By the tone of Jason's interruption, Dick would have guessed him to be smirking when he snorted, adding: “Been reading those parenting books again, B? You know those things don't help.”

Bruce sniffed. “They helped with you,” he said coolly.

Dick suppressed a chuckle. Jason was probably in there with his ears turning pink. However, getting caught lurking was not on Dick's agenda today, so despite wanting to hear more regarding his family's concerns, he turned silently on the ball on his foot and started up the stairs.

It was several hours later before anyone found him.

Dick had read the teleportation magic book cover to cover twice, with nothing to show for his efforts. As disappointing as that was, it was only one book out of at least seven that Dick wanted to try. The next was on particle physics and quantum reduction. At some point, he would need to worm his way back into the library without looking suspicious to exchange books, but Dick didn't think he would manage that for at least a few hours yet. When he'd peeked over the railing, Jason had been patrolling the hallway outside the library, so Dick didn't want to risk it.

It was Alfred who found him under his bed. Dick had a torch between his teeth, a blank page on the floor and a pen in hand, sketching out the best way to infiltrate the library without getting caught by Jason or Bruce.

“Master Richard?” the old man said, confused, looking around the empty room.

Swiftly, Dick shuffled the paper away and switched off the torch, storing both between the slats supporting his mattress. It was just in time too. The noise might have tipped Alfred off to his location, but in all likelihood, it had probably taken the older man no time at all to pinpoint Dick's exact hiding place.

Before Dick could stash the pen, Alfred was on his knees, peering under the bed with soft, kind eyes.

“My dear boy,” he said fondly, prompting Dick to flinch at getting caught regardless. “What on earth are you doing under there?”

It did not seem to matter that Dick had no excuse, not even a weak one. Alfred stretched out a hand and helped him crawl out from under the bed. Though he'd not actually _done_ anything―aside from perhaps map out a plan to circumvent Jason's patrolling and Bruce's keen eye―he felt as guilty as though he'd been caught red-handed trying to sneak into Alfred's prized cookie jar.

With one hand, the old butler helped him up onto the bed. With the other, he plucked the pen from between Dick's fingers and set it aside on the bedside table before brushing a thumb across his cheek, presumably to wipe away whatever dirty mark Dick had managed to obtain in his hiding place.

“I can see you take after Bruce,” he said with a smile. “I used to find him under his bed rather frequently when he was a boy.”

Surprised, Dick's eyebrows shot up of their own accord. _That wasn't something Alfred had ever shared before…_

“Bruce didn't like how big and empty the manor was without his mother and father during those first few years without them,” the man kindly explained. “Sometimes it's nice to feel secure, like no one can touch you without your permission.”

“Yeah,” Dick breathed, thinking back to his first few months in the manor and remembering how often he had hid in closets and cupboards, avoiding the big grand halls that felt too large for a small body like him. It was funny, how Alfred was unwittingly sharing this now, when Dick was twenty-eight and perfectly capable of navigating a ballroom with ease. “I know how he feels… uh, felt?” he finished lamely, twisting his fingers together in his lap.

Alfred shared a soft smile. Then, the topic changed anew.

“How would you feel about a hot cocoa?” he asked, as close to a mischievous, wry smirk as Alfred could manage, twitching beneath the hairs of his moustache. “You didn't eat very much lunch today, I was told. That's very unlike you, Dick.” Then, as an afterthought: “I'll even add the little marshmallows.”

Dick couldn't help the amused snort that came out through his nose. “That's not particularly healthy, Alfred,” he chastised lightly. “I'm sure you shouldn't be bribing your charges with hot cocoa.”

Alfred blinked at him, then let loose a bark of laughter that had Dick's own cheeks spitting apart into a grin.

“Right you are, Master Richard,” Alfred replied eventually, after his laughter had died down. “But you should know, a little hot cocoa every now and then doesn't hurt. In fact, I'd say it does wonders.”

Dick fiddled with his index finger a moment longer, smiling down at his hands.

“Alright,” he finally agreed. “One hot cocoa never hurt anyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments, I really appreciated each and every one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Une petite rébellion.

“IT'S MISSING!” Jason bellowed, storming into the kitchen as noisily as an angry elephant, just as Alfred set down the delicious looking hot cocoa before Dick.

“ _Master Jason,”_ Alfred reprimanded, Bruce strolling into the room with a slight frown upon his brow. “I don't think we need that kind of volume inside the house.”

Jason didn't look the slightest bit repentant, which was dangerous, Dick thought, given the way Alfred's eyes narrowed. His eyes fell on Dick like a lioness sinking her teeth into prey. _“What did you do with it, Dick?”_ he snapped, menacing.

Dick's grip around the mug tightened until his knuckles were white, the heat of his drink warming his fingers and keeping him firmly grounded.

The silence rang throughout the room for a beat, then, everything happened at once.

Jason lunged for Dick as he slipped off the kitchen barstool and made a mad dash for the top of the fridge, a place that had once been one of his favourites for avoiding Bruce's reach. Simultaneously, Bruce yelled out Jason's name, scolding, while Alfred jumped to make sure no one collided with Dick's now abandoned drink.

“Where is it, thief?” he barked, skidding to a halt, hands on his hips. “I promised not to tell B, but if you don't tell me I will.”

Bruce stopped then too, rounding on Jason with surprise. “Tell me _what?”_

“I don't have it,” Dick lied, resisting the urge to poke out his tongue. That would be _truly_ childish.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah you do, I _know_ you do.”

“Tell me _what?”_ Bruce repeated, more forcefully this time.

Dick bit his tongue and scowled. _This was ridiculous, it wasn't like he was actually a child. Somehow, he would find a way to… to reverse or to fix this._ _Even without the help of his family._

Jason counted to three, out loud. Then, when Dick refused to speak a word, turned to Bruce with a sigh.

“Dick's stolen one of Zatanna's magic books,” he said, shaking his head. “I caught him with it earlier and I promised I wouldn't say anything. I put it back, but it appears it has gone missing again.”

Bruce's face went from concerned frown to shock and alarm in no time flat, the man spinning to pin Dick with a mildly panicked look, overlaid with a veneer of anger.

“ _Richard John,”_ he barked, stern enough to have Dick flinching at the full-naming. “You will get down from the fridge and fetch that book _immediately._ You _know_ you're not supposed to go into the restricted section. Those books are _far_ too dangerous!”

Dick's scowl deepened. _This was why he'd moved out as soon as he was able._ Bruce's worry was just a façade for constant control. _And Dick wasn't a child!_

“No.”

Everyone in the room blinked thrice.

“ _Excuse me?”_ Bruce returned, voice shooting up an octave.

Dick bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

“No,” he repeated, to the complete shock of everyone in the room.

Bruce even had the audacity to look _hurt,_ for the briefest of moments. That changed, though. Very quickly. Wiped away to be replaced with fury.

“Jason,” he said, addressing the other boy in a tone so cool and even it might as well have been artificial ice. “Would you mind fetching me a chair from the dinning room.”

Wisely, Jason did not argue, simply doing as he was told and returning a moment later. Dick's teeth began to chatter nervously as he waited. He had to grit them so they would not make a noise.

Once the chair was set in front of the fridge, Bruce stepped up on it and pulled Dick out of his hiding place with ease. Dick did not struggle as he was forcefully removed and hoisted against Bruce's hip, but his skin prickled with apprehension and unbidden tears rose up to well in the corners of his eyes. He scrubbed at his eyes before they could give him away. _This wasn't fair. None of this was fair. He was a grown man, a twenty-eight year old grown man with an apartment and who paid his own bills and did his own laundry. And yet, he was being man-handled like an unruly child! IT JUST WASN'T FAIR._

Bruce wasn't a small man. In fact, their were several reasons criminals feared him. Ominous presence when he was angry just being one, though it was the one sending slight tremors of anxiety down Dick's spine right now.

Dick was not set on his feet. Bruce readjusted his hold once his own feet touched the floor, moving him from his left hip onto his right. It was likely that the man knew that if he set Dick on the floor, they'd never find him again if he didn't want to be found. There were many hiding places around the manor, he had scoped them all. There were even a few he had discovered as a child that he'd never shared with anyone.

Jason looked slightly apologetic as they passed, but not enough that Dick thought he really meant it. Part of him could feel empathetic for Jason―Dick knew his brother was simply trying to look out for him, and he himself had pulled the _'Big Brother Knows Best'_ card more than once.

Alfred simply shook his head when Dick glanced up to meet his eyes, this small action hurting Dick more than the old man had likely meant it too. Disappointing Alfred tended to have that effect on _all_ members of the family.

Bruce carried him through the dinning room and past Tim and Damian, the pair of them doing a poor job of looking as though they hadn't been listening in from the other room. Tim arched an eyebrow as they went, while Damian simply looked confused.

Out into the hall they went, then up the stairs to the landing, and again to the second floor, where all the bedrooms were. Dick initially thought Bruce was taking him to his own bedroom, but was proven wrong went they bypassed Dick's and went straight on to Bruce's.

The anxious shivers that ran down his spine increased into a prickly feeling all over his skin. Every place of contact like molten lead, searing his skin.

_Bruce was disappointed in him, for sure._ A tingle of remorse swept through him, unbottling his shame. It was odd, how much Bruce's disappointment still affected him.

Quietly, Bruce stepped inside and moved to the bed, sitting Dick down on the edge gently before sitting right down beside him.

“Dick…” he began, soft, and all the things Dick knew meant Bruce was worried and disappointed in him. It was hard not to curl into himself. To bring his knees up to his chest and wrap his arms around them. He'd never liked getting in trouble as a child. He found he didn't like it very much _now_ either.

A hand came up to brush over his hair. It made Dick flinch, which made Bruce pause, which made him want to kick himself. The hand resumed after a moment, fingers gently scraping his scalp.

“Chum,” he said, beginning anew. “What is going on with you?”

Bruce's tone was so earnest it made Dick want to cry. There was not a trace of anger to be found there, despite how plainly furious he had been only a few minutes before. Right now he just sounded… worried. Bruce sounded like… like his _dad._

Dick sucked in a shaky breath. _God, he wanted to tell Bruce. He wanted to spill everything, tell the truth, but he just couldn't._ It took him a minute to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Whatever it was keeping it there _knew_ how much he wanted to tell Bruce everything, from beginning to end.

“I'm sorry,” he apologised, pitifully, wringing his hands. “I… I can't.”

Puzzlement and perplexity crossed Bruce's face briefly, before his expression settled into something sympathetic, but neutral.

“Can't what?” he replied gently, smoothing Dick's hair back again, stroking his head and tucking his smaller frame against Bruce's side. “I promise, you can tell me anything, Dick. You're safe.”

Dick shook his head, apparently the only catalyst for tears needed. _He was just so alone, unable to tell them._

“No, you don't understand,” he said, a broken, dry sob escaping like a hiccup. “I _can't.”_ Dick pointed at his throat and then started to bawl in earnest.

Bruce held him close, strong arms holding him tight and as Dick cried like a baby. It took him a minute to work out that the man's silence was the indicator. Something was dawning on him.

“You…” Bruce began, after Dick's embarrassing sobs had been smothered down into less embarrassing soft hiccups. “You _can't?”_

Dick shook his head again, a few errant tears continuing to slide over his cheeks, flicking his gaze up to Bruce who was in turn staring back.

The man paused, holding every muscle in his body taut for a minute. Then: “Dick, has something happened?”

Dick sucked in a breath and laughed it all out again, filled with more relief than he'd ever felt before in his entire life.

He nodded. “Yes,” he breathed.

Bruce's face grew grim.

“Something you can't say?”

Dick nodded again.

Bruce's eyes narrowed, the barest hint of suspicion there.

“Can't,” he said. “Or _won't_?”

Dick shook his head.

“The former,” he replied.

Around his shoulders, Bruce's arm grew just a tad tighter.

“Alright,” he said, his eyes losing all distrust, crows feet crinkling at the sides. His gaze grew warm, soft, _fond._ “I understand.”

Dick laughed again, huffing out the relief through remnants of heavy tears. Then, because it felt right and _good,_ he bent forward and wrapped his arms around Bruce's middle. Just like he had done when he was a child.

For a moment, Bruce looked startled, but soon enough both arms rose up around Dick's shoulders. Bruce pulled Dick in, turning him for a proper hug, this time. It was the kind of hug Bruce rarely gave to Dick these days. Usually it was all claps on the shoulder and pats on the back. So unlike the fond and adoring hugs he'd given when Dick had been a child.

“Thank you, B,” he whispered against the man's sternum, wilfully suppressing the wetness that threatened at the corners of his eyes.

Bruce hummed softly. “No need to thank me, chum,” he returned.

When Dick and Bruce both slid off the end of the king-size bed, Dick was allowed to exit on his own out of the master bedroom, although Bruce did take his much smaller hand.

“How about we go and tell the others, hm?” he asked, to the tune of Dick nodding eagerly, ready to bounce along the hall with glee. It put a smile on Bruce's face, which was worth it enough.

Dick wanted desperately to know what Bruce intended to say, but he held his tongue. Soon enough he would know anyway. It would be impossible to explain the situation to the others, but at least they would _know_ something was wrong.

Bruce rang the meal-time bell. Given the hour, the rest of the house would know it was an emergency family gathering, and given the scene Dick had caused earlier, he doubted any of them were wondering too hard about what the meeting was for. It would surprise them all to know the truth, though. Or, whatever degree of 'the truth' Dick would be able to answer.

Bruce and Dick were the first to enter the dinning room, empty of anyone else. The man sat in his place at the head of the table, but when Dick went to climb into his own chair, Bruce pulled him up onto his lap.

Dick let out a little huff of annoyance. “Bruce,” he whined. “I can sit in my own seat, you know.”

Bruce smirked. “I know,” he replied. “But given the conversation we're about to have, I'd feel better if you sat here.”

Dick huffed, but in the end, he did not argue. Maybe this wasn't such a terrible spot to be, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are going great!

The rest of the family gathered around the table, each taking up a seat, looking expectantly at Bruce and then down at Dick.

Alfred sat on Bruce's right, while Jason sat on the left. Next to them were Damian and Tim, respectively.

“Thank you all for being so expeditious,” Bruce began with an incline of his head.

They all nodded. Then, Tim chirped: “Of course, Bruce. What is going on?” The way his eyes dropped down to Dick made him feel rather self-conscious, especially sitting on Bruce's lap, the way he was.

Jason seemed to straighten slightly in his seat as Bruce drew in a lungful of air. It was oddly comforting to have the familiar rumble of the man against his back, vocal vibrations running through his frame.

“An… issue appears to have cropped up,” he sighed, rather mysteriously, before clarifying: “That is to say, Dick is being prevented from telling us something and I'm not sure _wh_ _at_ _,_ or even for that matter: why.”

Alfred looked immediately dubious, though he said nothing in return. Merely pursed his lips and struck Dick with a cautioning glance.

“What do you mean, Father?” Damian asked, piping up. His face held none of the suspicion of Alfred's, which lifted a slight weight off Dick's chest. Alfred was probably right to be wary, having helped raise five children, but right now it felt rather deflating.

Bruce paused, pensive. “When Dick and I were upstairs, I asked him several questions which he could not answer.”

Previously quiet, this time it was Jason to speak.

“Could not answer?” he asked, sounding doubtful. “Or did not _want_ to answer. You're sure it wasn't just simply because Dick didn't _want_ to? He is, after all, in trouble for stealing Zatanna's book from the library.” Jason pinned him with a distrustful stare

Bruce nodded, acknowledging as he raised a palm. “I understand your concerns, Jason.” A hand came up around the back of Dick's head and smoothed down the errant hairs there. “However,” he added. “I… I have a… a _hunch,_ from what Dick was able to express. Besides, I want to believe I can trust each and every one of you not to lie to me.”

Jason still looked uncertain, but there was a layer of confusion underneath it all too. Alfred quirked an eyebrow, but his undecided suspicion seemed to fade with Bruce's words. _If Bruce believed him, it appeared that was good enough for Alfred._

“Well,” said Tim, interjecting with an outward gesture of his hand. “How do we figure out what it is that Dick can't tell us if he _can't tell us?_ More importantly, how do we figure out how this came to pass? There's a culprit out there somewhere. _”_

There are a pause, a short silence wherein they all pondered the very same question Dick had been loitering on since he first woke up in his much smaller body.

Finally, Damian exclaimed: “Maybe he could write it down?”

Alfred glanced over, approving.   
  
“A most excellent idea, Master Damian,” he nodded, already drawing his seat back from the table and moving to stand. “I shall fetch a pen and a piece of paper.”

It was mere minutes until the butler returned, pressing the pen into Dick's hand and laying out the paper before him. Dick half wanted to slap himself for not thinking of this himself, earlier.

_This was it,_ he thought excitedly, hoping and wishing it to be true. Moving his hand above the paper, he pondered on the best and most concise way to convey his predicament. Once he had an outline in mind, he pressed the pen down.

The first few lines went down smoothly, half a word beginning to form in his childish chicken-scratch. From there, it all went down hill. His hand stalled, his wrist seizing up. Suddenly, it was as though his fingers had turned to ice. Dick's arm started shaking so wildly that he was forced to drop the pen, the tremors not subsiding even as he clutched his arm to his chest in pain.

Several voices exclaimed his name at once, each with varying degrees of panic.

Bruce wrapped his arms around him and began hushing him, little whimpers escaping him as the pain travelled up along his arm in waves, dying once they reached his shoulder. It took several long moments before the trembling and pain subsided. Why did everything feel _more_ as a child? The physical and emotional. Dick just wanted things to go back to normal. Sure, being twenty-eight wasn't all rainbows and sunshine, _but neither was being this half-formed version of himself._

“I'm sorry,” he breathed, when his nerves no long felt like needles were drilling along each and every one.

Bruce kissed his forehead. “There's no need to be sorry, chum.”

Jason whistled low, his hands coming to rest on his hips. “A curse, maybe?” he said, almost absently.

The moment the words were out of his mouth, a thought seemed to strike him. He whirled around, eyes wide. “That's why you were looking through Zatanna's magic books!” he exclaimed, to which Dick could only nod, an enormous grin spreading across every spare inch of his face, splitting his cheeks. _They were finally getting it._

“Perhaps,” said Bruce, his low voice rumbling through Dick like he was made of paper. “Though it seems likely, we don't know for sure.”

“It wouldn't hurt to call Zatanna though, would it?” Tim asked, the worry in his voice evident. “After all, if it is a curse, she _should_ know how to fix it.”

Bruce's arm curled protectively around him grew a little tighter. “For now,” he said with a nod. “That would seem to be the most appropriate course of action.”

The table went quiet then, an air of faint distress encircling them all like Gotham's regular haze, as she rolled in off the bay. There were grit teeth and clasped hands and furtive glances in Dick's direction.

“There has to be _something_ else we can do,” Damian declared, finally, his palms slapping the top of the table in frustration. Dick felt for the boy. In the reverse situation, Dick would have been fretting and freaking out too. “There's got to be a way around this… this _curse,_ or whatever the hell this thing is!”

Bruce once again moved his hand to smooth down Dick's hair, but only now was he realising it was more for Bruce's comfort than his own. The knowledge made him feel strangely loved.

“I will need to do some research,” the man replied in response, levelling Damian with a stare over the end of his nose. Over the other side of the table, the young boy deflated. “But,” he added. “I'm sure Dick here will appreciate your company, Damian. Perhaps you would be able to keep his mind off the situation.”

As though flicking on a switch, Damian brightened again. “Of course, Father,” he nodded eagerly, with the seriousness of being bestowed important task. Under any other circumstances, Dick would have thought it adorably cute.

The group shared several unreadable glances between each other, all of them going over Dick's head, before suddenly, everything seemed to be decided.

Damian slipped out of his chair and marched around the table to where Dick was still stuck on Bruce's lap.“Come, Richard,” he said, pulling Dick off with two hands until his feet reached the floor. “I shall show you how to build a survival hut in the backyard while Father works. Despite this curse, we need to keep up your training if you are to take over the Robin mantle from me some day.”

With one hand gripped tightly around his wrist, Dick was tugged out of the dinning room rather forcefully by a singularly-minded and determined Damian before he was able to get in a word. It was clear his family was Up To Something, but what it was, Dick had absolutely no idea. They had a plan though. That much was certain. Bruce had his serious face on and Tim and Jason looked just as intent on helping. It was the first time in _days_ that he had felt so light.

The burden felt as though it had been lifted off his shoulders, the weight now dispersed.

Damian dragged him all the way outside before he released Dick's wrist, spinning to pin him with a stare that nearly made him flinch. There was a fierce fire in Damian's gaze, a resolve he only ever saw when the boy was in costume. The thought made him long for the days of their own dynamic duo, though those felt so long ago they may as well have been in a dream.

“We're going to help you, Richard,” the boy said, a palm coming down on his shoulder. “Father is going to help unbind you from this… this _thing._ Whatever it is.”

Dick smiled and shook his head. “I'm not worried, Dami,” he replied, looking up. It still felt so strange to be looking _upwards_ at the boy he'd all but raised in Bruce's absence. Some day's Damian _still_ felt like Dick's own ward, as _he_ had been to Bruce. “I know we'll fix this.”

The young boy gave a firm nod. “Good,” he said, releasing Dick's shoulder. “Because I―.” He stopped, suddenly looking highly uncomfortable as he swallowed thickly.

It was funny. How many things had _changed_ for Dick since finding himself in a body almost two decades younger than he was. What was funnier was what had stayed the same.

Without giving Damian the chance to think, Dick lunged forward, swinging his arms around the boy's middle. It felt weird not to be holding the child in his arms, but rather having Damian's come down around his own shoulders after a moment of frozen shock, but this at least was familiar. The hug was nice. Damian could be a lot like Bruce in so many ways, completely melting into Dick's hugs was just one of them.

Finally, when the two of them pulled apart, Dick noticed the fine lines of worry around the boy's face had eased. It appeared he had been more concerned for Dick's predicament than he had initially thought.

“It's going to be okay, Dami,” he reassured, to which the boy puffed up his chest.

“I know that!” he snapped back, flinching back immediately at his own tone. Immediately, he looked regretful. “I mean…” he started anew, then trailed off, biting his lower lip and staring down at Dick with wide, apologetic eyes. It wasn't hard to imagine the wild train of thought Damian's brain was taking him on now. After all, Dick _was_ a big brother. These thoughts were all too familiar.

Dick reached out and patted him gently on the arm. “It's okay, Dami,” he said softly, the young boy's eyes somehow widening just that little bit more. “I know you're just worried.”

Damian huffed, then frowned, almost as though he was hiding confusion.

“You should not be comforting _me,_ Richard,” he sighed, an edge of painful regret in his voice. “That is my responsibility to _you.”_

Dick smiled, wryly. “I don't need you to look out for me, Damian, I can do that on my own.”

This time, Damian looked amused. “You're just a child, Grayson. Everyone needs a shoulder to lean on sometimes. But I suppose you will learn that with age.”

At the very thought of declaring how much a child he _wasn't,_ Dick's lips seemed to seal shut. It gave the other boy the time to announce: “Come, I should teach you how to do a perimeter check of the grounds. Father used to do these more frequently, I am surprised at how lax he has become, but then again, there has been a rather significant increasing in security cameras since Drake discovered the amount of blind spots on the grounds.”

With that, Dick was dragged along behind as Damian began their walk.

It would not be too much longer now, he hoped. Soon, Dick's life would be set right.


End file.
